


I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

by Kogeki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blasphemy, Character Study, Happy Ending, M/M, Philosophy, Religious Themes, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, a lot of metaphors, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogeki/pseuds/Kogeki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey, have you heard a tale about a human's faith saving an Archangel, who lost his own?<br/>Then maybe about the Archangel, who's faith in the human, that thought of himself as an abomination, a freak, helped him accept himself?<br/>Either way, that's a tale about the two broken souls, who have found their lost faith in each other, when the rest of the world gave up on them long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The most incredible things about miracles is that they happen

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say a few words, so just bear with me, alright?  
> THOUGH YOU CAN SKIP IT IF YOU WANT
> 
> First of all, I hear a lot of misconceptions about Sabriel (even if it's one of the most powerful ships on the show these days), so to everyone, who are still wondering why pairing Gabriel/Sam even exists, look up http://songsofthestars.tumblr.com/post/2937253110/why-i-ship-samgabriel . The post on her tumblr is called "Why I Ship Sam/Gabriel" and it's magestic and detailed, so it's nice if you check it out (or show to people, who still don't understand the beauty of this ship). It's practically everything we feel about Sabriel in words. So yeah, go check it
> 
> We had like, five? episodes with Gabriel/Trickster and for some reason we, fans, still managed to create the bond between Gabriel and Sam. It came out of nowhere for some people. But if you have a time to actually study the characters, you get that two people who couldn't be diffrent are, in fact, so similiar to each other.
> 
> And that's exactly why I love Sabriel. The potential. And certain neglect of Sam's character pushed me to create this fic. Seriously, Dean had many friends through the years (Crowley if it counts, Benny, Lisa and Ben), then Cas was always there when he needed him. But I can't remember single time, when Sam Winchester (the cinammon roll that he is) never had a friends (and his love life sucks, so there's that). I get "Lucifer's vessel", "abomination" and all that. But I think this precious man deserves to be happy (or at least have a friend, hello, writers!). So I made him happy.
> 
> A lot of religious stuff from the various sites, but the most useful one in this chapter was: http://angels.about.com/od/AngelBasics/fl/Why-is-Gabriel-the-Archangel-of-Water.htm
> 
> NOW ENJOY! :D
> 
> P.S. This chapter has been edited by http://thefanficau.tumblr.com. Thanks, Crystine! ^^

#  **I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings**

_The free bird leaps_

_on the back of the wind_

_and floats downstream_

_till the current ends_

_and dips his wings_

_in the orange sun rays_

_and dares to claim the sky._

 

_But a bird that stalks_

_down his narrow cage_

_can seldom see through_

_his bars of rage_

_his wings are clipped and_

_his feet are tied_

_so he opens his throat to sing._

 

_The caged bird sings_

_with fearful trill_

_of the things unknown_

_but longed for still_

_and his tune is heard_

_on the distant hill for the caged bird_

_sings of freedom_

 

_The free bird thinks of another breeze_

_and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees_

_and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn_

_and he names the sky his own._

 

_But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams_

_his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream_

_his wings are clipped and his feet are tied_

_so he opens his throat to sing_

 

_The caged bird sings_

_with a fearful trill_

_of things unknown_

_but longed for still_

_and his tune is heard_

_on the distant hill_

_for the caged bird_

_sings of freedom._

**Maya Angelou**

 

* * *

**CHAPTER 1 - THE MOST INREDIBLE THINGS ABOUT MIRACLES IS THAT THEY HAPPEN - _G.K.Chesterton_**

* * *

 

Sam Winchester hadn't prayed for... what, years? Decades? It wasn't about calling Cas to get his feathery ass to help – that was mostly Dean's job anyway - or talking to some angel-douche surrounded by a ring of holy fire to get info. It wasn’t even those meaningless whispers of, “Oh God” or “Jesus Christ” and “or so God help me...”.  Those hardly counted as prayers.  He thought about those life changing, super hopeful moments of “Hi, God, it's me, Sam Winchester. It'd be really cool if you could help us, thanks.” He thanked, said sorry, and begged even in his lowest moments to someone, anyone who gave a shit, hoping for a miracle he didn't quite believe in. He always thought he was the problem, and considering his history, yeah, it wouldn't be surprising. He still had hard time grasping the fact that 50% of the problem lay on the other side of the line.

Don’t be mistaken, he knew that they were all just a bunch of assholes with shiny superpowers. Seriously, he got it, but he couldn’t help thinking that he once considered every one of those bastards in heaven benevolent, protecting, and loving. He believed that they were helping him; that faith was helping him like it sometimes helped others. 

He was so stupid.

Young and naive as he was, Sam stubbornly clung to the idea. Maybe that was what he really liked in all of it, the idea of faith, dedication, and purpose.Even if Dean constantly reminded him how pointless it was. The truth was that faith was the only thing that he trusted to keep him grounded when he didn't want to depend on Dean or when he couldn't trust himself. When he lost it, he lost an anchor. When he lost faith in God, he lost faith in good. There wasn't “pure good”, he knew that now, but there actually was pure evil in the world. It wasn't fair in the slightest. It wasn't the balance he needed, the balance he craved. It was the really fucked up gray reality he sometimes didn't want to wake up to.

The point being that Sam didn't see a point of praying anymore. It wasn't like someone was actually listening, or even giving a fuck for that matter. He felt uncomfortable - no, that wasn't the word - he felt frustrated every time he heard about a church, or sunday catholic readings, or Middle Eastern religious wars. He wanted to shout “just stop! They don't care. None of your stupid angels or gods care.”

The feeling only increased after the apocalypse-that-wasn't and his soulless period. Yeah, some people wanted to be better and needed faith, but most of them just... Jesus Christ, they were tearing at each other's throats believing it would get them a VIP section in Heaven. What was even more fucked up was that all those heavenly creatures just showed middle finger to humanity and didn’t bother to care.

But hearing about that always got him wondering, how they ended up from point A – loving Angels of the Lord, who just wanted to protect their father's creations; to point B – vengeful arrogant dicks with no moral code. When Sam faced an angel he read about in the bible, who turned out to be a psycho murderer or worse, he lost that small amount of faith he still had.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester was a man who didn't forget the things that had fallen apart by his hand, because of his stupidity. How could he ever forget that? How he had disappointed his brother -not once-, nearly broke the world - not once - got himself killed or nearly killed - not fucking once - and Ruby. God, that was presumably the worst, which triggered many, many others after. How he once believed there'd be a reward, if only the little, stupid Sammy would be good.

But hey, he accepted all of it: the abomination badge, no reward after death, and the family business. It took him a long time to sort it out, but things were good. Thy may not have been exactly ideal, but they were getting there. Dean was without The Mark of Cain and Cas, who wasn't dying anymore, was by his side.

Sam didn't need to pray to feel good about himself or to believe in people. He finally had hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine again. He wanted it to be more, but didn’t want to push his luck.

Their first case after, well, everything, was in St.Philomena's Church in Worcester, MA. The last time they had been there, they got rid of Isabella, a spirit that began possessing and gutting men who had confessed to being unfaithful. This time it wasn't anything gory, no one had been brutally murdered, but Sister Mathias was worried something like that could happen again. From what she said to Dean on the phone the choirboy, Henry Wilkins, who died a week ago after an operation, sometimes showed up at sunday mass right before the choir practices. Things started to get messy after one of the other boys was badly frightened by seeing his deceased friend.

Nothing major, in short.

Dean went with Sister Mathias to get the details, his glare pointedly told Sam to stay behind and look around, so he and the Sister could catch up. Sam shook his head and sighed. When did the two of them even get so close? His brother had always had a thing for unavailable women and couldn't see what's good in front of him, even if it hit him in the face. But Sam trusted the nun enough. Besides, Cas would arrive any minute, so he wasn't especially worried about Dean saying or doing something stupid either.

Sam didn't see a point of churches, to be honest. Praying was good anywhere. Faith was faith, simple as that. If someone didn’t go to church on Sundays, it didn't mean he wasn't a believer. But people tended to think otherwise. So Sam never considered himself a Catholic. A man of faith was more likely. But now, when he visited a church, it just left him with sour taste on his tongue. So now he was glad to have something to focus on – the job.

He checked the statue of Jesus, the altar, the pews and each one of the pictures and windows, but the EMF Meter in his hand showed nothing.

The windows though, caught his attention, so he let his gaze linger on one of them. The stained glas showed an angel with two golden wings and a single white Lily in one hand and a Horn in the other. The face with a slight smirk, mocking, as if knowing the funniest joke on the planet, but leaving you to figure out the punch line yourself.

Or maybe Sam just interpreted it that way – seeing it as many times as he did.

“ And I heard a man's voice between the banks of Ulai, which called, and said, Gabriel, make this man to understand the vision.”

Sam flinched slightly, not expecting anyone besides Dean and Sister Mathias in church at four in the morning. They had planned to deal with the ghost and be on their way home by evening.

“Father Delaney.” Sam nodded, a polite smile on his lips.

He didn’t particularly know the man from their last visit, like Dean did. Besides, he felt too much like a kid having one-on-one conversation with authority figure about something awkward and personal that left him feeling more embarrassed than before.

“Daniel 8:16.” Father said. “I remember you, boy. You and your partner were the ones to investigate those suicides months ago.”

“Y-yeah, uh...” Should he tell him that another spirit was haunting the church? Though maybe it was better if he didn't know? Well, they didn't even know if it was an actual case. Sam assumed simple salt-and-burn, so he decided against it. “We were in town, thought we could stop by. And my name is Sam.”

Father Delaney nodded, even if he looked a little skeptical. He looked up at the stained glass window again and said, “I saw you looking at him the last time you were here.”

Did he, now? Well, it was hard not to stare at the mighty personification of the Archangel Gabriel, the Messenger of the Lord, when someone knew him as a Trickster, and not wonder what happened. What was Gabriel like up in Heaven, before he ran away? And how did he end up in his Trickster persona, partying with pagans and sending slow-dancing aliens to people? How much he had changed since?

One couldn’t blame Sam for wondering. Curious minds are never content. And of all the angels Sam met, Gabriel was an enigma, the ultimate mystery he so desperately wanted to solve, but never had a chance to. When Gabriel was alive Sam couldn't think of him as anything but a pain in the ass with a wicked sense of humor. But he did die for them – or for Kali, it didn't really matter. He had changed. When Sam saw the ashen wings on the floor and the dead body that needed to be burned with holy fire, he saw for the first time not a trickster, but an angel with a history older than dirt.

So, from time to time, when he didn't try to save the world, Sam stopped and wondered. He wondered about many things; what he regretted, what he didn't deserve, what he needed to fix about himself, what he'd like for dinner – but most of the time he wondered about changes. Sam changed for the better, or so he hoped, and Gabriel did the same in his last minutes... or even after that, helping them with the Horsemen's rings -through a porn, but a help no less.

Father Delaney's soft voice sounded curious. “Did you pray to him?”

Oh, he prayed to anyone who would listen. Sometimes specifically to the three Archangels, Gabriel maybe even more than others. But it was so long ago. Dean would laugh at him or be terrified, if Sam ever told him. There was no harm in telling it to a priest, though. “I used to.”

“What happened?”

Sam sighed, but it came out like a self-deprecating snort. “I grew up.”  _ Angels turned out to be assholes, most of them tried to kill me and my brother or wipe out humanity. Michael was a tool, Raphael a douche, Lucifer had daddy issues worse than me and Gabriel. Gabriel didn't make me cringe every time I thought about him. Which wasn’t a lot, but was a lot more than I'd like to admit. _

The Father smiled, the smile resembled the smirk the Trickster had worn so many times, like he knew something you didn't and you were just too stupid to realise what it was, even it was right in front of your face. Sam loathed that smile. Even after five or so years he still could picture it with a terrifying clarity. The image made him shudder every time.

For a second at the back of his mind Sam was sure it was just Gabriel in disguise, posing as a priest. After all, it fit his ironic sense of humor, but the logical part of his brain kicked in and said what the fuck ? How had the Trickster's so-called lessons screwed him up to the point of believing the dead Archangel was messing with him yet again? Sam was smarter than that.

Simply because Gabriel was dead. Not just ‘dead’, but dead-dead.. And Sam was paranoid enough to think that even the slightest mention of the Archangel would bring him back. Like he was just waiting for the best moment to show up and shout, “Guess, what! I'm not dead. Did you two yahoos miss me or what?”

Sam didn't want to think about the terrifying fact that he knew exactly what Gabriel would say or do, if something as ridiculous as this actually happened. But he banished the worry. Of course he knew. After all he did spent months trying to get into the Trickster's head at the Mystery Spot case only to beg him to bring Dean back, a fact that he wasn't proud of, but hey, it had worked.

Sam snapped his attention back to Father Delaney, who tapped his chest with one finger, a silver cross decorating his neck.

“Faith is something you carry around with you. It's like a feeling deep in your heart, you can try to bury it all you want, but you can't just lose it. Do you know why Gabriel is the angel of water, boy?”

Sam furrowed his brows. “I didn't know...”

“One of his specialities is sending clarity. This great angel may send you clear insights about how to make the best decisions about your future.”

Sam snorted at that. Straightforward was more like it. The un-subtle throw-it-in-your-face kind of straightforward only Gabriel could pull off. “Especially after you pray for guidance. There's a book by Richard Webster, and I won't bore you with the details, but Webster says, 'If you feel trapped, locked in, or are simply in a rut, call on Gabriel to help you change and start moving ahead again. The gift of prophecy can be yours, if you ask Gabriel to help.'”

“That's... really...” Sam cleared his throat. “Thank you for advice, Father, but I don't think I need it. I was just looking at the picture.”

_ And comparing the real deal with a beautiful creature he once may or may not have been _ . ’Looking’ didn't sound as lame, though.

The man shrugged. “I understand. I'm in no position to presume what it is that you need and I'm sure you don't want my meddling in your life.”

“It's not... that. It's just-” He really didn't know how to talk to authority figures. It just wasn’t possible to be respectful and honest at the same time. Sam sighed and ran his finger through his hair. ‘Sorry, I should go, I really don't mean to-”

He was going to walk away, but couldn’t make himself move. Instead he found himself doing a vague circle with his hands and looking up for an answer. Like Gabriel-face up. If he was still be alive, he'd totally enjoy letting Sam stumble on his words, all the while wearing that smug expression on his face. The asshole. Sam glared at the Father as if it was his fault.

“I can recognise a lost soul when I see one, Sam. Kind of comes with the job.” Sam let out an amused breath. “And if you want to know my opinion, he chose you, the Archangel Gabriel. He is here to guide those of your kind. Lost souls who forgot how to pray for help, who caged their hope like a bird with a great need to fly and sing. I see the hope within you that you don't want to let out.”

“I don't hope anymore.” Sam confessed in a hushed whisper, afraid of anyone, even the picture of Gabriel hearing it. “I don't have anything to hope for. I just don't.”

Father Delaney smiled, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more visible than ever. He crossed himself and kissed a little silver cross on a chain. He looked at the stained glass picture of Gabriel, then at Sam, who stood there wringing his fingers, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Where the is hope, there is faith. Where there is faith, miracles happen.”

“If I ask for help,” Sam said flatly. “If I pray, everything will be alright.”

Miracles didn't happen. Not to him. Not the good ones, anyway.

“You haven't prayed in years, boy. How do you know praying won’t help?” The Father shot back.

Sam just stared at the picture, hands clenched in fists, burning a hole in Gabriel's impossibly beautiful self imagined by some artist. Gabriel was dead. Even he'd been alive, he wouldn't listen to the whining of a human, the more a Winchester. He'd laugh out loud and make a joke out of it. “Oh boo-hoo Sammy-boy is sad, because no one wants to listen to your whining of how you broke the world and your family. Guess what, Sasquatch? No one cares! I certainly don't.”

Though maybe, just maybe, he would listen. He changed after all. Sam shook his head. Gabriel was dead. There's no point of thinking of him as a saint after his death. He was a douche and he died a douche. Why would Sam even want that pain in the ass back?

The Father didn't know about the Trickster, and Sam really didn't want to explain why he and Gabriel weren’t a good combination. So he just nodded. “I'll think about it.”

Father Delaney, clearly satisfied with an answer, turned around, only to see Dean and Cas emerging from the sacristy.

Dean waved in their direction. “Hiya, father! Good to go, Sammy?”

Sam swallowed again, not trusting his voice. “Y-yeah. You got everything?”

“Yep. Half an hour and we're done.”

Castiel nodded to Father Delaney, who excused himself quietly, then the window caught his attention. He studied Archangel's features on the painting, then small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good to see you, Sam.”

“Yeah, you too, Cas.” They usually greeted each other that way, even if the last time they saw each other was yesterday.

Dean rolled his eyes, and clapped Cas' shoulder. “You girls want to catch up on Gilmore Girls or we can get the hell out of here?”

“Ah, yes, I recall Luke Danes to be a great character in the show.”

Sam's eyes went wide, as did his smirk. “You let him watch Gilmore Girls?” But he was ignored.

“Dude, no. Two words: Lorelai Gilmore. The chick is hot!”

While Dean named all the reasons why, he and Cas made their way to the front door. Sam crossed himself the picture of Gabriel though it felt equally stupid and embarrassing. Father Delaney led him to remember that part of himself that respected those kind of places, though his job as a hunter didn't always allow even that much.

‘So, uh, hi...” Yes, this was the moment he realised he was trying to say something smart to a portrait of the dead, douchey Trickster. Jesus, he really was a mess. He snorted, the sound hollow in the empty church. “They made you taller.”

“Sam, you comin'?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!” He shouted, still amused and trying to ignore the headache he now had, which was the prize of over-thinking.

The way to the cemetery turned into 30 minutes discussion about Gilmore Girls, Cougar Town, and Dr. Sexy M.D. Sam couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or kill himself, so he decided to sleep. At least he wasn't dragged into pointless conversation about Dr. Piccolo's plastic surgery or something like that.

They simply burned the body of a eighteen year old Henry Wilkins and at five-thirty they were on they way back.

Sam tried to not think about the little chat he’d had with Father Delaney about Gabriel. He always avoided thinking about Gabriel, if he could manage it. This time, however, it turned out to be more difficult than usual. Something about it all bothered him, and he couldn't place a finger on why.

Dean stared at him for good five minutes, chewing his burger with noises that were supposed to get Sam's attention. They did, of course since Dean was  _ very _ determined, but Sam spared him only a 'really?' glance, then turned back to the reading.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Sam couldn't stop a grin behind the book. Dean only saw brows, from where he was sitting with elbows on the table, leaning forward to where Sam was resting in his armchair comfortably.

“Reading.”

Dean only said, “ Why ?” like it was the greatest crime against humanity.

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother in obvious exasperation.

“People do that, you know. Read for fun. You should try it sometime. Actually, I can find some books for you. Do you prefer pictures or big letters? Or both?”

Dean grunted a response that sounded unsurprisingly like “smart-ass”. He looked at the bottle on the table beside his plate, then at Sam, who had returned to his book and wasn't paying attention anymore. Dean grinned to himself and threw the bottle at Sam, before saying “You wanna beer?”

Sam smoothly caught it. “Thanks, man.”

“Okay, enough of that crap.”

Dean stood up. Sam was a huge nerd, but it was starting to get annoying how much time he spent on that damn book when Dean was bored out of his mind, and Cas was out doing some 'important angel business' Dean wasn’t invited to. So yeah, he was grumpy this afternoon, sue him. His bookworm brother only made it worse.

Sam, sipping his – technically Dean's – beer, didn't sense him coming, until it was too late. Dean snatched the book after struggling with Sam's pretty impressive hold. Jesus, he clung to it like his fucking virtue depended on it. Another reason why he had to be up to something. No one – and that means fucking no one – should fight like that over some stupid book.

So after a minute of struggling and furious glances, Dean managed to win – mostly because of Sam's uncoordinated moves with a beer in one hand. It left him with uneven breath – either he was getting old (hah! Like that would ever happen) or Sammy was ridiculously strong and damn if it didn't leave him proud of his little brother, who was giving him his best bitch face. Dean shrugged.

“Let's see what you've got here, buddy.” He grinned, jumping back towards the table to put a safe distance between them. One eye still watched Sam, so he didn't get to Dean and snatch the book back in a single stride on his freakishly long legs. Just in case, you know. His little brother was quite a runner.

Both the smirk and the color fell from his face after seeing the cover. “ _ Seriously _ ?” He may or may not raised his voice, because  _ seriously _ ? Sam was reading  _ that _ ? That was what had been so important that he clung to it like to his own damn virtue?

“No, seriously? What the  _ hell _ is that? No, scratch that, why the hell are you reading this piece of crap?”

Sam ran a hand over his face, fingers combing in his hair and scratching in distress. “It's not a piece of crap.” He put the barely touched beer on the table and took the book gently from his brother's hands. He stared at it like it'd held answers to all his questions. “It's just a book that I'm reading.”

Dean crossed hands on his chest. “Don't give me that. If it was a normal book like The Odyssey or To kill a Mockingjay, or-”

Sam snorted. “Mockingbird. You watched Hunger Games with Cas again?”

“He said the romance plot is compelling, but the idea of Games is pointless, and they could simply overcome the hunger by- That's not the point!”

Dean threw hands in the air, much to Sam’s amusement. The mere mention of the angel got him distracted in a second. “But this? This what you choose to read for fun? ‘ _ Gabriel: Communicating with the Archangel for Inspiration and Reconciliation’ _ ? Who comes up with stupid fucking names like this? You know who? Crazy people! Obsessed douchebags, who don't know anything about God or angels!  You shouldn't read crap like that. You know the truth. We saw it. We lived through it.”

Sam quietly listened to the end of his brother's rant just like he always did. Setting the book down on the table, he raised his hands to show open palms. “For starters, I'm not a kid. You can't tell me what I can or can't read.” Simply stating a fact, Sam was good at those. They calmed Dean down and prevented Sam from turning simple conversation into argument. But then again, with Dean everything had to be an argument. ‘Besides it's interesting and can't affect someone, who doesn’t believe in that whole 'God is love' concept. It's not like I can damage my head any more by simply reading, and, if it can't zap me into TV Land or put me in a loophole, I say it's pretty harmless. ”

Well, it was a pretty clear explanation, but it still pissed Dean off. He couldn't tell Sam to throw it away or burn the thing into oblivion. He went through too much; what's the point in beating yourself down with a book about the angels? Then again, Sam was drawn to sad things. Always was, his little masochistic, rain, crying, and sad people loving Sammy. Dean knew one day in Heaven his little brother would be surrounded by everything he'd lost, instead of imagining a place in Hawaii with cool breeze and awesome booze, or whatever it was that made Sam truly happy.

Dean rolled his eyes, remembering the main reason why he didn't want Sam to read that book. “But the Trickster? Of all the asshole angels you could think of?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know, just... Fathery Delaney said something two weeks ago that got me thinking. Nothing major, just, you know... religious stuff? Archangel Gabriel stuff.”

Dean furrowed his brow, refusing to back down. “That bastard was the opposite of religious.”

“Well, he did die for our sins.”

“Pretty sure that's another guy. The one in sandals and with a lot less sassy remarks.”

Sam snorted. Yep, he walked right into that one.

He tried a different approach. “You never think about them? About Gabriel?”

“Why would I think about that dick?”

Sam rubbed his temple. “Okay, right, you don't, cool. But I do.”

“Why would you think about that dick? Unless you two had a secret love affair, then I just don't get it, and I'm not sure if I want to.”

Sam snorted. “God, no.” He wrung his fingers, trying to find the right words. “It's just like seeing his other face, you know? In that book, I mean. We know him as the trickster, but he was so much more. The Bible says he was so much more. I think at least some of it is true. It’s just so refreshing. Knowing, I mean. Knowing why he was like he was and what people saw in him. No, don't get me wrong, Dean. Stop thinking about a secret love affair for a second and just listen. Sometimes I'm thinking about angels as a whole or about a single angel. And I start to get it.”

Dean looked skeptical, his voice still slightly annoyed. “Get, what?”

“Why they did what they did. No one made them do anything. They chose it. Gabriel just figured it out sooner and actually did something about it.”

Dean recognised that look, that spark in Sam's eyes, how they lit up when he talked about something exciting. When he was a kid it was usually a book or a movie, then the idea of going to college, then it kind of never happened again. He could go on and on, and on. And Dean loved – oh God, how much he loved – his brother's enthusiasm, seeing him completely and utterly absorbed by an idea. Sam was weird like that, some idea sometimes made him more happy than a beer and getting laid. It made Dean want to smile and laugh to finally see Sam so alive.

But he knew he needed to crush that enthusiasm now, to spare Sammy the disappointment later. Why couldn’t he get philosophical about aliens, unicorns, or slash fiction like other people? No, he had to go straight for the sensitive topic. Damn it, he wouldn't be  _ Sam _ if he didn't do just that. It was all or nothing with him. It was just that Dean had seen how that was a problem in the past and how it might be a problem in the future.

To see Sam happy, he had to do what he’d done before: crush some of Sam's pointless, quick-term dreams. He just had to.

Dean swallowed a sip of beer to gain the courage. Damn it, he knew what was going to happen. Sam would either door-slam him and wouldn't talk to him properly for days, weeks, maybe even four years, or give him that utterly completely crushed look, like he always did when Dean couldn't see his point of view. He did see, and he was going to prevent this.

“Let me tell you something, Sammy.” He started, playing with the nearly empty bottle in his hand. “Leave it like this. Dead's dead. Why dig up the past? He won't mess with you anymore. I mean, Gabriel's dead, and he ain't coming back. Why let him mess you up even more from beyond the grave?”

Dead's dead?  _ Dead's dead? _ Wow, Dean really was a fucking hypocrite sometimes. He'd never say it, if they'd been talking about Charlie, or Bobby – or freaking anyone else, because most of their friends were dead. Of the two of them Dean was the one with 'why dig up the past. Just move on, dude' attitude, but that didn't stop him from bringing Sam back to life however many times, from talking about Bobby like he still was there and not moving on at all.

Sam had no idea why it pissed him off so much. Yeah, Gabriel was a dick. He knew that. He knew he was dead. But that didn't mean Sam shouldn't think of him. Of whatever or whoever he wanted to think, even if it meant digging up the past. He would think of Gabriel whenever he damn well wanted to. Gabriel changed after all – even if Dean couldn't focus enough to see it. And as much Sam hated the Trickster, he liked Gabriel, the Archangel persona... Or he would have. He definitely would've, if Gabriel was alive.

But he wasn't. And that brought him exactly to point 1. Which meant nothing.

Suddenly the book became a reminder of Dean's little rant. Dead's dead. Ugh. Sam left it on the night stand, muttering, “I bet you're enjoying my misery, wherever you are, asshole.” He landed face on the pillow and fell asleep right then and there.

He never bothered to open the book up again to finish those last six pages.

Dean and Cas went to talk to the suspect – a old woman they thought was a black widow killing one young man every three years to be young again. Sam was supposed to wait in the car, observing the most un-suspicious area possible.

He turned on the radio, hearing the song in full blast.

_ 'Cause it was the heat of the moment _

_ Telling me what your heart meant _

_ The heat of the moment shone in your eyes’ _

Sam stilled, unable to turn the radio off or even turn down the volume. Memories behind his eyelids, kind of blurry, but still there. Dean dying in the Mystery Spot. ‘ Rise and shine, Sammy!’ Dean hit by a car. ‘ Yesterday was tuesday. But today is tuesday, too!’ Dean randomly dying in the shower. ‘There's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours.’

Gabriel... no, Trickster made him despise the song after waking up to it every single day for three months. Asia , huh? One of Dean's favorites, but since the loop-hole they had a silent agreement to never listen to it again. Some time after that Sam avoided turning the radio on at all, and they stick to the old tapes, to Dean's delight. Then he realised what a stupid fear it was – the chances that the radio will play ancient Asia of all the brand new Taylor Swift songs was one on a million.

But hearing it in the exact same moment after hitting the on button? Sam wasn't paranoid or anything (yes, yes he was), but it was just too fortunate, even with his luck, right? Right?

No, it's an accident. Accident that happened accidentally. Those can happen to anyone, even Sam. Sam was just an accidental person, Like that time he lost his shoe... In the bad luck day, exactly! It's nothing.

But the universe yelled 'ha!', when Sam wanted to brush it off as a bad luck and what's playing now, when Dean knocks on the window and opens the door, after Sam unlocked it?

Fucking Back in Time, that's what.

_ ‘But you better promise me, I'll be back in time’ _

Dean's suit was torn in the chest by something that suspiciously looked like claws. Cas in the back looked no better. His trench coat was ripped apart to pieces, hanging of his arms.

“She got away.” Dean answered the silent question. “The bitch shredded my new suit. That's why we don't have nice things, Sammy.” He mumbled under his breath. Then groaned, realising the radio was on. “Ugh, turn that thing off. Let's hear some real music.”

AC/DC blasted through the speakers and Dean momentarily calmed down.

Sam stared ahead, completely paralyzed.

“Something's wrong, Sam?” Cas asked from the backseat.

Sam shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No, uh... I'm fine, Cas, thanks.” After a second thought, he added, “Hey, what's the day today? I think the new episode of the show I watch comes out today.”

“It's tuesday, dude. Pretty Little Liars have to wait. We need to take that bitch first, before she'll kill some poor guy again... or rip his suit to pieces.”

“You seem fond of your suit.” Cas noticed.

“No kidding. If it cost you that much, you'd be mad, too.”

Sam stopped listening after that. It was Tuesday. Fucking Tuesday. Accidents so accidental weren't accidents at all.

Okay, so Sam was paranoid and he thought that yes, the possibility of someone messing with him was so huge it was out of the scale. It could be Gabriel, of course, but it didn't need to be. Some creature, yes. Sam just needed to find out what.

Oh, and about Dean's suit... After they killed and burned the bi–the witch, and came back to the bunker, Dean found a new navy blue suit that probably cost a shitload of cash in his wardrobe, but he never wore it and never said anything. And maybe he bought Cas a new trench coat and put it in his wardrobe, so he couldn't know it was him.

When they talked again, Cas thanked him for it with that weird gilmer in his eyes that did things to Dean's stomach, and the most creative thing he could come up with was, “Thanks.”

After that hunt the incident became recent (or Sam was just noticing them more). They never repeated, just popped out randomly on different intervals of time (sometimes nothing happened for weeks, sometimes something happened again on the next day) and always had something to do with Sam's encounters with Trickster (and no, Sam wasn't writing too much meaning into it). It was something only he and Dean were supposed to know.

Like in one episode of Dr. Sexy M.D that Dean told Sam to watch, because he had to go with Cas on 'important angel business', and Sam wasn't sure, if it was acronym for sex or not, since they tended to leave Sam alone a lot lately... But back to the point, Dr. Sexy was wearing white tennis shoes instead of his cowboy boots. Tennis shoes! The whole episode was about the mafia boss lady that was Dr. Sexy's patient on heart transplant, who stole the cowboy boots after she learned about his on and off romance with Dr. Piccolo. But he wasn't ashamed of his tennis shoes, he wore them proudly and made them sexy, like only Dr. Sexy can.

Seriously, that was it. It was ridiculous, but Sam watched anyway to the end, waiting for some Trickster to snap his fingers and pop out of tin air. It didn't happen. And Dean didn't believe him, when he explained him this episode's plot. With dripping sarcasm he said,

“Thanks, Sammy. Very funny” stealing one of Sam's famous bitch-faces (but not that good, of course) and pouted for the next few days, until the next episode came out (this time with cowboy boots and all).

Or all of sudden Sam got free samples of sweets whenever he went. People on the streets literally were cramming them into his pocket. Dean was jealous at first, which was pretty hilarious. But then only he enjoyed the treats, since Sam ate so-called 'rabbit food' and Cas just didn't like the taste of a lot of them (except honey, he absolutely loved honey).

Or that one time Sam ended up talking with the awkward janitor in high school in Pontiac, Illinois.

Sam heard, “I've been moping these floors for six years.”, when the guy actually said “I'm doing my job 'till six. Then I'm outta here.” Sam couldn't place the words and why they sounded so familiar at first. Then he groaned. Again, Dean wasn't there to confirm Sam wasn't going crazy.

Oh, and the incident with the porn. Ugh. He wanted to erase it from his mind forever and never mention it again to anyone ever.

So, the porn. The one with Gabriel in it? Casa Erotica? Sam watched it. He dug it out of the abyss of the large box with useless things that they didn't use anymore, but for some reason never threw away, and he watched it to the end. An hour of embarrassing moans from the girl and close-ups of Gabriel's face, when he cum. Yikes.

The most embarrassing was that Sam had to jerk off in the shower after. Which left him completely ashamed of his body reactions and slightly disappointed. There was a message directed at them both – about the rings and horsemen (huh, it really was so long ago?); there was a message directed at Dean at the start of the video, something about being afraid to stand up to your brother; Sam thought there'd be a message directed at him. At least at the end, something along the lines of “Sam, only you'd be so stupid watch porn video with a dead archangel in it to the end, looking for some clues. Talk about creepy. Congratulations, here goes nothing.”

He was wrong. Well. It happens. Cool

Sam was anything but cool. Easily adapting to surrounding as a hunter and all that. But still somewhat uncool about it. Maybe it's the nerdy thing. Or the fact that he actually tried to be polite most of the time. And he wasn't so hot-headed as Dean for example. And he liked to have a way out, some kind of strategy for everything. It made him so calm at the cases, in fights.

When it came to his personal life, it was glaringly obvious when something was off with Sam. Dean knew him like the back of his hand and Cas was inhumanly perceptive, so when Sam was spending more time in his head than usual, they called intervention.

This time when Sam and Cas were waiting in the Impala for Dean to but them dinner (they threw a coin and he lost) and it took a lot more time than usual, Sam knew what was it. The silent intervention. Sam could talk to Cas, if he didn't want talk to Dean. Dean tried four times to bring the topic, why Sam seemed so aloof lately, but it didn't work (Sam told him once about his theory about where all the sweets were coming from, Dean said, „shhh, just let it happen”).

So Sam was stuck with Cas in the car, until he talks. Okay, he could do that.

But Sam without a strategy was as far away from cool and casual as you could get. So he blurted out, “So, there's any possibility that Gabriel's not dead?”

Smooth, Sam. Real smooth.

Cas frowned, his gaze never leaving his smartphone. Sam was thankful Cas was so occupied with Angry Birds – or whatever the angel was doing (God, please, don't text Dean, don't text Dean ).

If he thought it was a strange question, he didn't comment on it. Humans still tended to surprise him at times, but mostly he got used to their weirdness. Especially Sam's train of thought. Sometimes he asked the most bizarre questions.

“As you know Gabriel was killed by Lucifer with his own angel blade. Archangels are the majestic nearly invincible warriors, but I don't think even Gabriel could trick his way out of death. Perhaps you think otherwise?”

“If he taught me anything, it was that he's pretty stubborn bastard, but that's as far as a Archangel-slash-ex-pagan god can go. I'm sure he died that night in Elysian Fields hotel, so don't worry about it. I was just curious.”

Cas looked at him, their gazes met in the rear-view mirror. The angel couldn't read his thoughts – at least he promised he wouldn't do that without their permission – still Sam felt like he was staring at his very soul, every doubt and trouble bared under gaze of those big blue eyes. Sam only hoped Cas won't find out about his little obsession with Gabriel (or whatever that was messing with him like Trickster would).

Sam snapped out of it, when Cas started talking. “When we were in St. Philomena's Church in Worcester, I saw you crossing in front of the image of Gabriel after the talk with the priest. I meant to ask about that, but I didn't want to bother you. Then Dean told me about the book you were reading recently. It surprised me greatly. Have you,”

Started to doubt Gabriel's death? Watched porn starring your brother and jerked off to it? Think about him in a spare time? Kept on being completely and incurably paranoid that's he's messing with me again? Yes, Cas. Yes, I have. “found your faith?”

What?

“What?”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Castiel added quickly. “I think it truly is wonderful you're letting yourself be open to the world again.”

Well, he wasn't exactly wrong. Only on the slightly wrong direction. Sam didn't have a heart to correct him. He wanted to share his enthusiasm (as enthusiastic as Cas can be with that blank face and all).

“It's not like a full-on super-faith or anything, just... small steps.” Cas nodded and Sam found himself believing in those words. Huh. That concept didn't make him cringe like it used to. But that's beside the point. „Can you tell me more about about Metatron's illusion? The one with Gabriel. You asked him, if he was dead, and...?”

“He waggled his eyebrows in that obnoxious manner, but no, he didn't deny it. For a moment I hoped with all my heart that Gabriel's alive, but sadly it turned out to be only an illusion. Metatron indeed used dirty tricks.”

That's confirmed the theory Sam drew in his mind. In case Gabriel actually wasn't dead and if it was him, who messed with Sam all this time. That was one of his most ridiculous  (and most possible) ones. He tried not to take it too seriously, though. He was just wondering.

“Yeah, but what if it wasn't. An illusion, I mean. Maybe Metatron somehow, I don't know, tricked Gabriel into creating it. You said it was just like his other pocket dimensions, he must be in it in order it to work. Maybe someone bound him to it or, or, I know it's sounds crazy just bear with me. Maybe Metatron brought Gabriel back with the angel tablet or something, but he had power over him. So in that illusion Gabriel couldn't do anything weird, because Metatron was watching. So he never said if he's alive or not. 'Cause, you know, Metatron couldn't punish him for not saying anything.”

Yep. He said it. Sue him. He thought that through many times, before he was sure he wanted third-party opinion on the theory. Cas was the obvious choice.

“You put a lot of thought into it.” Like Sam thought, Cas looked reluctant. Like he experienced it before and knew how it was going to end. „I'm not sure, if it's the right idea to put your faith in. Gabriel never was the patient one, if he was alive, don't you think he would've show some sign of it?”

Sam expression must have said something, because Castiel's expression suddenly hardened.

“He hasn’t, has he?”

Sam sighed, rubbing his temple. “You won't believe me.”

“Sam. Is my brother had been communicating with you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, it's just small stuff like the song in the radio or TV show that's only we supposed to know. And it's not in my head, Cas, it's not. You saw it, too, you and Dean, but you wouldn't know. But I... I don't know how to confirm it.”

Cas nodded absentmindedly, before saying, „Did you pray?”

“What?”

“Prayer, Sam. If you want to communicate with an angel, it's the easiest way. It may not give you wanted what you desire, but send you on the right direction.”

Sam groaned. “Now you're talking like Father Delaney!”

“He must be a smart man, then.” Came Cas only answer.

Sam hadn't prayed in years. He wasn't going to start now. Besides, it's stupid idea (how he didn't think of that sooner?). What if Gabriel couldn't hear him? Or ignored him? Or actually answered, but Sam didn't like the answer? But again, it could get him all the answers he wanted. He mentally noted to give it a try after they end the hunt they were currently going on.

Sam saw Dean approaching and he turned to the back seat again, “And, Cas? If you would, you know, not tell Dean about this...”

“I have no intention of worrying him, Sam. I know how strongly Dean reacts of any instability in your lives and I'd like to spare him an unnecessary stress.”

Dean opened the door, throwing Sam's salad at him. Then he gave Cas his burger. After Castiel's grace has been restored, he still craved a drink or food from time to time – the aftermath of being human for so long.

“What're you two nerds talking about?”

“When the hell will you come back with our food. Cas suggested to eat you, instead.” Sam snorted. Wow, that came out wrong.

“I did not.” Was that blush on Cas cheeks?

Dean only laughed, ruffling Sam's hair (much to his annoyance) and meeting Cas eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“What the hell, dude? I said stay in the fucking car! One simple thing and you mess this up!” Dean shouted.

Sam wanted just... break something. Anything . As long as the ache in his chest and headache go away. As long as his knuckles will go numb, the muscles nearly give away and exertion finally, fucking finally lull him to sleep. That's what he craved. Sleep. Normal dreamless all-night sleep, or any kind of sleep when he didn't wake up after two hours. He wanted to rest. He deserved to rest after five days of hunting vampires non-stop.

That was one of those days – after particularly nasty nightmare about Lucifer, Ruby and all that crap; he tried not to remember – when his mind did a backflip. Things he enjoyed annoyed him all of sudden, and he felt bad for snapping at Dean for no apparent reason. It wasn't his fault his little brother was a freak – ruining whatever good day they had. He couldn't stop himself, as if the better the day, the more Sam wanted to made it miserable for everyone. He barely managed to stand himself.

Stupid, emotional Sam. Why do you always ruin everything? – something that was getting bigger and bigger everyday in Sam's mind sounded an awful lot like Lucifer's voice, dark, taunting, amused.

And Sam wanted to feel positive, he tried breathing exercises for anxiety attacks, he started to run again in the mornings, he was eating healthy, he laughed and joked with Dean or talked about books and exchanged ideas with Cas. Sometimes he called Jody to say hi (she wasn't a woman of many words, but she always ended up telling Sam about Claire, Alex or her new friendship with Donna Hanscum). That's exactly the point! He shouldn't feel this empty. He should be happy. He so desperately tried to be happy.

But it all sometimes felt forced. Like no, no, Sammy, don't get to comfy, you don't belong here. It isn't your place. Remember your destiny, what you were born for. For bad things. You are nothing without disasters, fights, wars. You were supposed to end the world, for crying out loud! You don't deserve good things. You're nothing. Dean has enough of you already and he'll dump your sorry ass whenever he and Cass will hit it off and understand that the only ones they need are each other. You're just a menace, useless baby they need to take care of. And if they were better off without you, so will the rest of the world.

It gets overwhelming after a while. So no, Dean's bitching wasn't helping him. He wanted the hunt to be over. So he decided to end it on his own. Following three vampires to a warehouse at the end of the town in the woods, and killing them. Sounded like an easy win.

Yeah, right. Like anything would be easy.

Now they were locked in the small room, basement of the warehouse, the only light illuminating the room was shining of the moon, through tiny window with metal bars three feet above them (they tried to brake them, to no avail, and Cas couldn't use his powers there).

“I had got it.” Sam mumbled, crossing his arms.

Dean snorted, the sound so dark Sam had to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine clenching his fists.

“Well, obviously, you didn't! You didn't get this . If Cas hasn't show up, you'd be dead already.”

Dean had a point. God, he always had. They were locked up in there because of Sam. He let one of the assholes lure him there and nearly broke his skull. He knew he fucked up. He tried, but he did. He always did. Always let Dean down.

“He did. End of story. Can you fuck off now?”

“No.” Dean growled. „You should've waited for me. You should've–„

“I fucked up, I get it. I fuck things up – that's what I do! I should've listen to your stupid orders, because you're suddenly the almighty boss now.” Sam spat. „I should've told you where I was going. And I should've sit at my sorry ass in the car, because I'm incapable of doing my work right. Thank you, dear brother. You proved your point on how useless I am.”

That wasn't what he tried to say. He tried to say something along the lines of 'Yes, Dean, you're right. I'm sorry I'm a whiny little bitch today, but I'm just overwhelmed by everything. I get like that, mostly when no one else is around. It'll pas. It always passes. So don't worry.”

Castiel clearly saw his doubt. He was standing next to Dean, back turned to them, playing Angry Birds, still waiting for a signal, but it didn't work, just like his powers for some reason, pretending not to hear a thing. When the argument turned into a shouting match, he was facing them with his head tilted to the side, visibly distressed, trying to find a way to soothe things out as a peacemaker he was.

He put his hand on Sam's shoulder, staring at him with those big understanding eyes that just pissed Sam off at the moment.

“Sam, calm down. I think what Dean's trying to say is...”

Sam shrugged of his hand, turning his glare at Cas. “I know what he's trying to say, Cas! I know my brother thirty years, so yes, I know what's on his fucking mind right now, okay?”

Dean jabbed his finger at Sam's chest, pushing him back away from Cas. “No, you don't get to yell at him like that. He didn't do you a fucking thing, besides rescuing your sorry ass of those sons of bitches.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “I know! Jesus, fuck, I know!”

“Do you?” Dean's voice cracked up at the end, but he quickly composed himself. “Or you're telling yourself those things again? Whatever it is, it's not true. You need to fight this. I can't lose you again to that crap.”

That. That's what you wanted to hear, right, Sammy? Aren't you satisfied now? Gee, you're such a princess. Everyone's trying to make you feel better and you just stomp all their help...

“I know.” He choked up. „I know, but I just can't... not right now.”

“I get it. Okay? I get it.” His voice barely a whisper now. “When this is over, we go somewhere. You, me and Cas. Somewhere peaceful, like by the sea or I don't know... Wherever you two want, we'll figure something out. You'll get drunk, sleep or read your stupid books all day. You'll get better. But right now, I need you to keep it together, until we get out of here and kill those sons of bitches. Promise me this. Sam, you promise?”

Sam felt his eyes sting, but the managed to say, “Yeah. I promise.”

Dean hugged him so tight, Sam seriously wasn't able to breath. “Good,” He repeated, mostly to himself. “Good.”

“Oh, aren't you just  _ adorable _ ?” The voice cooed clear as a day in their heads. “Step aside from the door, if you please.”

They looked at each other in confusion, but still did just that in time with the steel door hit the wall, nearly torn from its hinges. The figure standing in the doorway was a man in sunglasses with curly black hair, ratty jeans and Ramones t-shirt. He looked at twenty-something years old.

“Wow, fancy meeting you here, guys.” The stranger managed to say, before Dean pulled the trigger.

The man threw himself on the ground with a squeak, managing to dodge a bullet just in time. “What the frickity frack? Are you trying to kill me?” He dared to sound affronted.

“Yes.” was Dean's flat reply.

Sam and Cas exchanged looks, no one had no idea, who this guy was.

“After I rescued you? Not very hero like, I say.”

“Good thing I'm not a hero, kid. Who the fuck are you?” Dean pointed his gun again at the stranger, ready to fire again.

Sam had only knife and Cas had his angel blade, both ready to strike.

He brushed the dust of his shoulders, when he got up, then leaned on the doorframe, some plan to look cooler, as Sam suspected. He showed palms of his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey, I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me.”

“Better just tell us your name, because I have a feeling Dean will gladly be your mama. You know, the one that killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger, now he's dead.”

The man laughed delighted at Sam's sarcasm. “The sass, the perky little ass, you must be Grumpy. Which means you two are Dopey and Bashful,” he looked at Dean and his gaze lingered on Cas, „By the way, thanks for blinding my sister. I'd appreciate, if you wouldn't do that to me. The world's too pretty to not look at it anymore.”

He eyed Dean and Sam appreciatively. Cas stepped from behind Dean with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

But Sam already had the answer. “Pamela Barnes. Your sister?”

The man shrugged, sliding off the sunglasses and hiding them in the front pocket of his leather jacket. Then he waved a hand. “The name's Peter. Peter Barnes.”

“How did you find us?”

“I'm a psychic.”

“You live in town?”

“So you're the smart one, huh?”

Sam ignored the comment. “Just answer the question.”

“Let's just say it's my town and I don't like intruders.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Why, Grumpy, I'm here to play a hero. The vampire's nest you looking for? Piece of cake. Let me show you the way, so we all can return to our respective activities that don't involve murdering anything. Whaddya say?”

Sam sighed, deciding for everyone. He just wanted everything to be over already. “If you're lying, remember we have guns and we'll find you.”

Peter snorted, but he didn't look so sure anymore.

“I told you we can't trust him!” Dean shouted, cutting head of a vampire woman in red dress.

“You never said anything!” Sam glanced incredulously at his brother, when he was holding one guy's arms, so Cas could kill him with his angel mojo. The white light shot from his eyes and mouth, and the vampire landed on the floor.

“I was thinking it!”

The truth is they all decided in the car it was good idea. Pamela was their friend, and that guy, Peter, was so much like her. He wouldn't betray them. Pamela would never do that. So yeah, he led them to the canals out of town (with entrance in the woods, near the old warehouse), like he said. What he never said, was he'd help them. So when the four vampires attacked them in the small corridor, Peter run away. And his scream of, “Sorry, guys, I'm a lover, not a fighter! Good luck, though!” was heard through all the underground, luring five more creatures to Team Free Will.

Now Sam had probably some of the ribs broken, Dean was swaying dangerously and Cas was too distracted protecting them both and not letting Dean fall, to stop the five vampires beating him with baseball bats. And a guy (even angelic one) could handle only that, before he started giving up.

Sam was knocked on the floor first, when reality started playing tricks on him and became blurry for a second. A second to have three bulky vampiresholding him down. They did the same to Dean and Cas, when they both turned their heads in the direction of Sam's sudden cry, when baseball bat hit his arm. They all heard a bone breaking.

Panting and trying not to yell, Sam got up on his ass and crawled back, until his back hit the moist wall. Shit. What chances they got? Cas was knocked out, Dean clutching to his trench coat for the life of him, hands trembling. When no one could separate them, they left them like that, bloody and exhausted, laughing at the display of protectiveness.

Dean's eyes met Sam's and he nodded. Sam shook his head. He didn't need diversion. He wasn't going anywhere. He just needed to think, to form a plan. Right arms was off, pain hooding his eyes, but he sucked it up. He wasn't important now. Pain didn't matter. He got used to it. Breathe, Sam, you need to breathe. His lungs were on fire, he probably broke a few ribs.

Damn it, he really was useless.

The vampires didn't kill them yet, so it was about something else. They were waiting, probably for their leader to come. Sam needed to figure something out before then, he need a plan. But how could they get out of there without Cas' power? With an uncious Cas at that, when Sam's arm was broken and with Dean only half-conscious state they wouldn't get too far.

Sam's attention snapped to his brother, when he spitted blood in some high-level suit-wearing ripped vampire's face. The guy roared and kicked Dean in the stomach. Fuck, Dean, you incurable idiot! Everyone in the room seemed amused or angry, but every single one head was turned to Dean. Which was exactly what he wanted, but still fucking stupid. The suit guy was using his big brother as a private punching bag and the others were whispering about killing Cas only to see how Dean would react. Jesus, were everyone so stupid or what? It they'd touch Cas again, Sam was sure Dean would rip their throats out, if it's the last thing he did.

Given the circumstances, yep, very possible. They were all going to die sooner than later. Sam's legs felt like jelly and he couldn't focus for longer than five seconds to form a plan. In other words, they were royally screwed.

Fuck, he could use a miracle right now.

Where the is hope, there is faith. Where there is faith, miracles happen.

“Shit!” Sam hissed, trying to hold himself upright. No one even looked at him, still taunting Dean. Damn it, thinking hurt. Seeing, too. Sam closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Okay... okay, please work, please work.” He tried to calm himself down. It was one of the most ridiculous  ideas he ever had, but what he had to lose, anyway? It was worth a try. Anything was worth a try to save Cas and his brother. “God or-or-or someone, help us. Can you, please... help us...”

He repeated it like a mantra, until a hand roughly yanked at his hair. He cried in pain. “Are you talking to yourself, mate? I thought the other one was nuts? I guess it's a family trait or something.”

It didn't work. Why it didn't work? Sam was good. He was trying to be good. He deserved a fucking miracle.

Then, it occurred to him.

Of course. Of course! He didn't mean it. It was a prayer, so it didn't work like that. He had to meant it. Even if he haven't prayed in years, Sam knew how it's supposed to go. Short, simple, faithful and specifically.

He let himself feel at ease, hope lulling him like to sleep, taking over all of his body. Throat dry, but he managed a few simple words.

Sam Winchester prayed for the first time in… waht, years? Decades? And now, look at him, praying with everything he got to the only person he could think of in the time of dying.

“Gabriel, we could... really use your help right now... I mean, get us out of here... Don't let them die, please. Please, if you're not dead and you can hear me. Save us... Please, just... Please.”

 


	2. If prayer is you talking to God, then intuition is God talking to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit intense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have new beta and this work is in edition (chapter 1 included), but this one isn't beta-read yet, keep that in mind
> 
> There's some serious sources saying Gabriel's not dead and Richard Speight Jr. on the set, clean shaven, with a pack of sweets in hand... Are those hints true or they're just teasing us? Anyways! The promo of new season is out and I am so sad, because why Sam's has to suffer so much god-damnmit! Besides that, all looks interesting and I'm waiting for some interaction with Mary/Cas side and what's Dean reaction would be. And of course Sam's reunion with him mom... Omg, you realise that he's never met his mom? This person is just a stranger to him, but how Jared lovely said, "Sam is one of these interesting people who feels the void, even if he didn’t ever know it. They say, ‘If you don’t know something, you don’t know what you’re going to miss.’ But I think Sam knows what he’s missing.”
> 
> Also, check out this STUNNING tear-inducing video of Gabriel; they're so rare, yet his one is just...pure prefection. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCP0a8wsCew
> 
> Plus 2 of my favourite (also disturbingly rare) good Sam mv's/  
> 1 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hR8-QPDJIY0  
> 2 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYd0bRl9zLY

**THE VOICE**

 

_There is a voice inside of you_

_That whispers all day long,_

_"I feel that this is right for me,_

_I know that this is wrong."_

_No teacher, preacher, parent, friend_

_Or wise man can decide_

_What's right for you - just listen to_

_The voice that speaks inside._

**Elli Ho**

* * *

**CHAPTER 2 – IF PRAYER IS YOU TALKING TO GOD, THEN INTUITION IS GOD TALKING TO YOU - Dr. Wayne Dyer**

* * *

 

The light was blinding, like someone poured liquid fire right into your eyes.

Sam felt it with every fibre of his being. Red blurred his vision. Two steady streams fought their way across his dirt-covered cheeks. Even after he opened his eyes, still anything he could see was white. He let his eyes adjust, trying to banish the colorful spots, just like the ones you get, when you look at the sun too long. The pain was gone, replaced by something else entirely. Power of some sort.

Sam choked a breath. It's like demon blood again. This power, this clarity, this addictive feeling like a drug cruising through his veins. No, it couldn't be happening. _Stop, Sam. It's not like that. It's something else. Focus._

There's no demons nearby. Only vampires. The metallic taste in his mouth was his own blood from the fight. Sam could tell the difference. For a minute, though, it was like Ruby all over again. And he won't let that happen. Not right now, not when he's finally getting better.

This feeling, it was... light. Not the darkness he was used to. More like a warm coat enveloping you in a rainy day, than a burning pain/pleasure keeping your blood pumping. Like mother's soothing voice – that's the only way to describe it. And what surprised him the most was _quiet_. This new sensation made every thought in Sam's mind stop, or slow down at least. Silence, the kind you unconsciously crave, but never get. Complete lack of the conscious thought. In that exact moment the loud world's been muffled into the unsteady rhythm of a beating heart and uneven breaths. Everything else muted just for Sam.

He stood up on jelly legs, wall kept him steady, and frowned at the sight of dead body of the vampire that called him „mate” a moment ago, his face completely melted, like ice in a hot day. The smell of burned flesh filled Sam's nostrils.

Then he saw it.

The floor of a half dark room was covered in bodies, every single one had burned eyes and mouth, face unrecognizable. And at the middle stood Castiel.

No, it wasn't him.

Something more powerful. Something... oddly familiar. Still pulsing with sheer power. If the angel would breathe, he would be panting from exertion, tiredness visible on his face.

When this... this thing realised Sam was watching it, the caricature of a smile tugged at the corners of Cas' lips. Not any smile, no. _The_ smile. The one of a man who knew the most hilarious joke on the planet, but left you to figure out the punch line yourself. Sam should've felt terrified, seeing that smile in some of the worst times of his life, but no, Sam felt... weirdly comforted. Sense of content slipped through his bones at the silent reassurance.

And if the smile wasn't enough, one look at _those eyes_ and any doubt had melted away. Sam remembered reading somewhere about the color. „Sunlight through a glass of whiskey”, it has been called. Even if Sam's lungs would allow him to form any words over his erratic breathing, he sure as hell wouldn't be able to think of a better way to describe it.

When he got to learn those eyes so well to recognize them in the dark _in the different angel_ , anyway?

With a blink of an eye (Sam's or Cas', he wasn't sure) Castiel's knees gave up, Sam managed to catch him, before his head hit the ground. Sam's rational part kicked in after a moment, remembering his broken arm. But no; his arm was good as new, the pain gone. Absent-mindedly he also noted burning in his ribs vanished.

Sam tucked Cas next to Dean again, leaning him against a wall. His head was stubbornly falling on the older Winchester's shoulder.

Sam looked at the angel, trying to find anything remotely resembling the powerful being who had possessed his body a second ago. His eyes still deep blue, his expression grim, body lying unconscious. The power flew away from like it never was there in the first place. The only proofs of it ever existing were fifteen bodies with melted faces, the tingling in Sam's body like after an electric shock and the tears warming his cheeks for no reason whatsoever.

He quickly wiped them off with the back of his bleeding knuckles, not even caring he smeared the fresh blood all over his face.

What the fuck just happened?

As much as he would kill for a time to figure out the answer to that eloquently put question, footsteps he heard only in the back of his mind and ignored to the white noise in his ears, they grew louder. He shoved the rising anxiety about his inability to form a decent thought, which wouldn't end with the vision of himself or Dean and Cas getting killed, he decided to prioritize things. The „what and why” was shoved forcefully at the back of his mind.

As dear ol' daddy used to say, „Survive now, cry later,” Sam decided to do just that. And he won't stand a chance against however many vampires approaching with two dead to the world men at his back, who could wake up any minute. He wasn't suicidal.

„Dean, Cas, that's a damn good moment to wake up. We need to get out of here.”

It didn't work. Well, it was a dumb move, but being in a kind of shock in the moment, would do that for you. So if the soft tone and nice words weren't working, he thought it'd be genius, to try the opposite approach. „Hey, jerk!” He slapped Dean. Not hard enough to work, but still it was worth a try.

Castiel stopped another slap, nearly crushing Sam's wrist in mid-air. „I think your brother have had enough injuries for the day, Sam.” He rasped, he locked his stare on a hand he has been holding, frowning. „Your arm.”

„I'm okay. And you? What about your powers?”

Cas furrowed his brows, deeply in thought, and Sam wanted to yell at him to hurry. Common sense, however told him to never rush an angel. So Sam waited for Castiel to figure out what happened. He clearly didn't remembered the all-angelic display of power and smiting the vampires, which was probably for the best in that moment. He could focus on the most important thing – getting them out of there.

When Cas looked Sam in the eye, looking a little disturbed and confused, but the dominant emotion was pure regret. „I am sorry, Sam. I'm not able to summon enough energy to get us three out.”

Sam realised he had been holding the angel's shoulder to maintain balance, and he squeezed it reassuringly. „You don't have to. Zip Dean out of here, okay?”

Cas looked like he was going to protest, but one look at Dean's sleeping face and his eyes softened, lips making a thin line. „I can't leave you, Sam. He would never forgive me.”

„What he doesn't know, won't hurt him. And it's not like you leave me here to die. I can manage, until you get back. Dean's the priority right now. Besides, I'm as good as new here.” He shook his right hand in front of the angel's face to prove it.

„I see, but what...” Something flashed through Cas' eyes. Recognition, maybe? „I did this. But it wasn't me. I... do not remember. What happened?”

„No time for that, Cas. Take Dean to the hospital or whatever, just make sure he's okay. Then you can come back for me, when you get your strength back. Don't bother if you're too tired though. Impala's right outside, I'll manage. Now, go.”

Castiel nodded. „I will come back, Sam.” And after a second thought, he added, „Don't die.”

Sam blinked and they were gone. Two bodies were replaced by Cas' angel blade, Dean's gun and a machete. Good. Sam dropped his own weapon, when someone tried to drink his blood out, and the idea of looking for it in the piles of bodies didn't lay with Sam well.

Sam took a shaky breath, his head already forming a plan.

Time to end that goddamned hunt, go home and fall asleep on his soft bed, preferably watching Disney movies to cheer up.

 

 

 

Sam covered by the shadows spotted four people talking in hushed voices. From the sounds of the footsteps there were five of them.

„No, seriously, they are here. Exactly where I left them. No... I don't know why your sweetheart didn't come back for you. Okay, I'll better shut up now.” Sam recognized Peter Barnes' voice. What the kid had to do with it?

 _Exactly where I left them?_ Huh. So it was a trap from the beginning. They got screwed up by some teenager, who claimed to be Pamela's little brother. Why they never questioned his identity, Sam wasn't sure. Pamela in her time was pretty straightforward about everything; they just assumed Peter must be too.

Sam promised himself that after his tete-a-tette with the vampires, Pete'll have to be teached a lesson or two about damaging Pamela's good name. A lesson with guns and some threats will do just fine. The kid nearly pissed himself, when Dean pointed a gun at him, and Sam could be really convincing motherfucker, when he wanted to be.

But now, the vampires.

The one woman talking had to be the leader. The rest three were probably her guardians or something like that. That meant fighters. _Great_. And Sam thought it was going to be easy. Not a chance. Everything in this goddamned day had to be a pain in the ass.

Sam waited as the five of them stepped into the room, drawn by the scent of blood. Blood of their own kind. A heavy furry coat stretched behind the woman, her companions in black suits like the cliche bald bodyguards they were. Peter dragged behind them in handcuffs. His eyes immediately traveled to Sam with a frown. Psychic. Right. So that part wasn't a lie at least.

Sam squeezed the machete's handle in his left hand and the gun in his right, ready for the worst. But Peter shook his head and didn't opened his mouth, didn't yell for the hills that Sam Winchester was crouching in the dark as a tiger ready to pounce. Then it dawned on Sam, Peter was waiting for the rescue. The guy had some nerve.

Sam slipped into the room, when the rest was distracted by the gore sight of their dead companions. The woman screamed, „Who the fuck did this?! You said the angel wouldn't be a problem. And Winchesters were barely standing on their own feet! Liars! All of you!”

„Sorry to disappoint, your highness.” Sam put a machete to her throat, holding her in place. He pointed a gun at the man standing nearby. „Move, and she won't be the only one, who dies, 'cause of your stupidity today.”

„Winchester.” She spat, venom lacing her words. „Your goddamn angel killed my men.”

Sam laughed darkly. He have had enough of anyone's shit today. „Don't be naive, lady. You seriously think some little Thursday's Angel could do _that_? Think again.”

The men waited, relaxed, as if knowing it's only a matter of time for their leader to kill Sam. She on the other hand wasn't so sure of herself anymore. „So who was it?”

„Someone, who gladly will melt your face right about now.” He whispered in her ear, making her shiver. Then he roared, „Gabriel!”

Every head snapped in different direction, eyes comically wide, expecting an attack. Using the distraction, Sam cut off the leader's head and jumped on the vampire standing the closest. He stabbed him in the head with the machete and backed him to the wall, trying to cut off his head, too.

Someone knocked him on the ground. He released weapons from his hold, hitting the bodies, barely holding himself together. The smell and feeling of dead beneath him did wonders to his stomach. He hid his face from the baseball bat (where did they get these, anyway?) with his forearm. The hit, though, never came. The suit guy froze, bat in the air. The other man stopped mid-step, trying to run to help his fellow vampire.

Just as Sam thought today wasn't going to surprise him anymore...

„Frickity frack, Sam, do something! I won't hold them for long.” Peter hissed through his teeth. Veins on his forehead now visible, as if ready to blow off. Blood dripping from clenched fists.

Sam immediately leaped into action, ripped the angel blade from his belt and cut heads off to the two unmoving creatures.

„That's all of them?” Sam panted.

„Yep.” Peter stepped closer, not sure if he could help Sam, who swayed dangerously. „Promise you won't kill me, when I help you.”

Sam found himself looking for any trace of insincerity he could find in those blue eyes. Finding nothing, he sighed. He had no idea what the kid's deal was and he wasn't in the mood for fighting, or thinking for that matter, anymore anyway. „You already helped. You know, psychics couldn't do telekinesis last time I checked.”

„I'm... more advanced, if you're looking for a term. I'll tell you the story, tell you what you want, if you drive me back home. Please?”

Sam frowned, still a little suspicious. But the kid looked positively terrified by everything in that room, moist blurring his eyes, so Sam decided to not let it bother him. Too tired. Besides Sam had a feeling Peter wasn't a threat. He decided to trust himself on this one. „First, we need to burn them. We have some gasoline in the trunk. Come on, kid.”

„Sir, Yessir!” Peter saluted with a small smile. „But I need you to know I'm twenty six, so not really a kid anymore. I'm flattered, though. And, Sam?”

„Yeah?” Sam whispered, focusing mostly on not-fainting.

„You're awesome.”

 

 

 

When they were getting out of the car, Sam nearly tripped over his own feet. He rested his hand on Peter's shoulder to maintain balance, which left the kid panting louder than Sam after killing all the vampires. They made it to the right room at the motel.

Cas head snapped at the creaking of the door, he looked like a lost puppy, head tilts to the side, something resembling fear creeping up in his eyes.

„It was me,” He said, voice hoarse. „And in the same time it wasn't. I can still feel the buzzing of the power inside me. But my own strength... it's gone. I am truly sorry, Sam.”

He held his palms stretched out, eyes fixing on the fingertips.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, soaked in blood, sweat and dirt. He smelled like shit, literally. Right now everything he wanted was a good long shower. Though it'd have to wait. Standing on his own two feet any longer will end up badly – for him _and_ the shower.

He nodded to Castiel, even if he didn't know, if the angel was watching him. He clearly felt genuinely bad about not returning for Sam, but Sam's plan haven't predicted Cas' return anyway. He wasn't even counting on Cas' mojo to come back so quickly. Cas just needed to get himself and Dean out of harm's way, and take care of Sam's brother. Sam got the rest. That was the exact plan Sam came up with. The three of them (four, actually, Peter deserved some credit after all) did a great job. If everyone were alive in the end of the day, Sam counted that as a win.

And here Dean was – on the bed in one piece, with clean bandages and only some minor cuts and bruises Cas probably didn't heal, not to lose more strength. His now naked chest wiped off the blood (just as his face and hair), his boots and socks off, dirty jeans replaced by striped pyjama bottoms. So yeah, he knew Cas would take care of his brother – he was never worried about that. He was more worried about not screwing things up himself.

The angel sitting at the end of Dean's bed haven't taken a shower or changed his clothes, probably spent all this time fussing over Dean and worrying about Sam and forgot about himself. Sam shook his head with a tired smile. That was so Cas, so focused on the Winchester's wellbeing neglecting his own physical needs. Or getting out of the smelly clothes in this case.

Talking about smelly... were the three of them smelling so much like shit or it was just Sam? Ugh. Maybe he could manage a shower.

First things first, though.

„I think I know the answer to that.” He said, leaning his back against a wall (he was afraid if he lay in bed he'll be out in a second). „Gabriel.” He breathed the word.

Castiel's jaw clenched, the subtle movement Sam wouldn't notice if he wasn't focusing on the angel with all his willpower, trying to keep his eyes open for just a minute longer. „What about my brother?”

Peter cleared his throat. Ah yes, Sam completely forgot about him, even if his hand was currently resting on the guy's shoulder to keep himself from falling.

„Wait, so your brother's boyfriend's brother is your boyfriend? I'm a little confused and more than curious, so don't mind me and please, continue.”

„He's not my...” Sam and Cas said at the same time, only to stop, look at each other and sigh.

Cas looked unimpressed. It took another half a minute to figure out why the angel was staring at Peter with that sort of hostile intensity.

„Uh, oh, right. Peter's good. We can talk.” It's not like the psychic wouldn't violate anyone's mind, if he wanted to get the info he wanted. But that tired and utterly ridiculous part of Sam's mind thought Peter wasn't like that, he wouldn't do that without their permission, even if he took them to the canals right under vampire's noses.

Tired Sam thought it's a good idea to have him here. It's just a feeling, you know. When something just fits. Peter fitted the conversation, Sam holding his shoulder and everything.

Like he said, ridiculous. But Cas nodded without even a question.

Peter looked moved, throwing Sam an appreciative look. „We're buddies now. Right, Grumpy?”

And Sam, not aiming for an argument... and not having a better answer, really, said, „Yeah” like Peter belonged right there by his side in the crappy motel room, talking about a case with Team Free Will.

Peter coughed into his fist, looking away at the awful floral wallpaper at the other side of the room. Sam could've swore Peter's eyes went wide and a little blurry.

„Tell me about Gabriel, Sam.”

„Yeah, sure, okay. So I followed your advice... kinda the only thing left, so I didn't have much choice. And we needed a miracle, so I... _asked_ Gabriel for help. And he did, apparently, because when I opened my eyes every damn vampire had a melted face, with you standing there all light and mighty.” Seriously, he wouldn't be able to get this image out of his mind for a long long time. The eyes and the slight smirk didn't fit Cas as it did to the other angel, but the message was clear enough.

Cas furrowed his brows, like he desperately tried to remember.

Tried, and failed.

„Did I... did _he_ do something?” _To you_ was left unsaid.

„Just flashed a smirk and puff, you're you again. Then all I know the most of the pain's gone, the arm's good as new, breathing's fine... definitely decent enough to fight those few vampires that were coming. We may be lucky to not get killed again after all the deaths, but that... That wasn't luck.”

„How can you be sure it was Gabriel?”

That. That we the sixty-four dollar question. Cas believed Sam's worries and theories... mostly. Even his faith in Sam had its limits. Good. No one should trust him like that, like Cas believed in Dean. He was the Winchester with the poor judgment, after all. His mind, and occasionally Dean when he'd lose his temper, felt obliged to remind him of that fact every so often.

But not now. Now Sam was sure. The intuition that was royally fucked up since Lucifer and Ruby, the one he tended to ignore on the daily basis, because _no, Sammy, the facts are clear, why are you always so paranoid?_ That's right, Sam always had a gut feeling, something always was wrong. His senses had the audacity to fail him more than once, so he just shut it, if it didn't stand with the reality. He didn't trust them, didn't trust himself.

For the first time in a long time in the spite of two minutes Sam let himself listen to what his heart, soul... _something_ was telling him. And it was screaming its lungs out that Gabriel's alive. And it's not Sam's imagination, not this time. In that canals, with the dead vampires, in Castiel, Sam found the proof he wasn't going mad. He was right.

But _why_ , he couldn't explain... maybe because he didn't know himself. From all things he could've said to convince Cas he's right about his, that he's telling the truth (and you don't even know how many lies Sam Winchester had to tell his mind to accept himself in all his abomination glory, so convincing other people to his opinions? Piece of cake), he managed only tired, „ _The eyes_ , Cas. You had his eyes.”

The tone of Sam's voice told the angel whatever silent question he needed the answer to. His head turned to Peter. „Peter, it was nice to meet you. I do not mean to be rude, but I think you should go home. It was very... eventful day for all of us. The rest is greatly required.”

Sam snorted at the polite way to say „get out”. When he would've meant it like that, he knew Castiel meant what he said, in all this innocent way of his. Peter yawned, throwing his arms in the air and stepping out of Sam's space. „Pretty shaken up myself, to be honest. 'S been cool meeting you, too. Tell your boyfriend to get better.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, frowning. Sam huffed a laugh, when Cas said, „I will, thank you.”

Sam managed to walk Peter through the front door, swaying a little as he did. „I'll give you a lift. Just say the address and...”

„It won't be that easy to find out where I live, Grumpy. You're barely standing on your feet, anyway. I rather take the cab than watch you kill us both, thanks.”

Before he walked off, Peter turned to Sam, all the humor gone from his eyes. „I'm sorry, Sam. They paid me to rescue you from that basement in the warehouse, get your trust and then take you to their nest. I'm broke, they threatened me and the money was big... it's no excuse to leave you there to die, though. I swear I'd never do it, if I didn't thought you three could handle this. I was sure you'll get rid off them once and for all. So, yeah, thanks for that _and_ for saving my butt. Oh, and you can have the money.”

He took a roll of cash from his back pocket and wave it before their faces. Sam shook his head. The guy obviously needed it more. He tried to hide it with his good humor, but actually Peter really had been terrified of the vampires, the sight of blood making him sick. It was a one-time thing. Yeah, Sam believed the kid wasn't all bad. Just made a mistake. People made mistakes. Sam understood it maybe the best to not let that overshadow who the person really was and forgive, just like once he needed the forgiveness himself.

At the end of the day, Peter was still alive and breathing, and that was the most important. He could learn from his bad decisions. The courtesy Sam not always had.

„Okay, at least let me repay you somehow. You have my number-”

„Actually, I don't.”

Peter only smirked. „Call me whenever you need anything. You can bitch about your brother, boyfriend or your brother's boyfriend for hours, seriously, I don't mind. I'm always up for some good ol' drama. Or, you know, if you're all business and in need of some friendly neighbourhood psychic... Yeah. Bye, then, Grumpy.”

„Why are you keep calling me that?”

Nostalgic smile appeared on his face. „My sister used to do that. It bothers you? I can stop, if you want, just say the magic word.”

„Nah.”

When they said their goodbyes and parted, Sam checked his phone and yep, _Peter Barnes_ was on the list of the contacts. Psychic or no psychic, the kid had some pretty sticky fingers. Sam should look out next time.

He sighed, the sound more a laugh actually, and turned in the doorway, with closed eyes, waiting for Cas to ask about Gabriel. About everything.

Questions never came.

„Rest, Sam. I'll watch over you two, until you get better. We'll discuss this, when we all are awake and in the state of mind to think rationally.”

The last words were gone on Sam, because he was out the moment he fell on the crappy motel bed with a groan. He let exertion lull him, warm pain after a good hunt and the memory of Gabriel's power enveloped him like a blanket. Sweet peaceful nothing let him sleep through the rest of the night and majority of the next day.

Even smelling like blood and shit for the entire time was worth it.

 

 

 

„So, Gabriel, the dick he is, was alive the whole time, and messing with you for... what was that? Oh yeah, _three freaking months._ And now, he saved our asses back in the canals by _possesing_ Cas and using all his power for that very purpose. And why the hell is that, Sammy?”

Dean's tone has been so light and not at all angry, so Sam was glancing between him and the road for three hours now. There was two possible explanations. Cas gave him a lot more medicine that was required. Or his brother didn't believe him and tried not to show how pissed he truly was. Or both. Probably both.

„'Cause I prayed.” Sam mumbled.

„'Cause you prayed!” He shouted with laugh not amused at all.

Yep, definitely both. The medicine had been shady as fuck and Cas wouldn't tell Sam where he got it from. It made Dean light-headed and/or weirdly emotional.

Dean ran his hands on his face, still smiling. „You know how that sounds? Really fucking stupid. And I don't mean the part, where he's alive, oh no. We both know how Gabriel was-is; whatever. The guy's a coward; always have been, choosing an easy path, running away from his problems. I get it, he wanted to lay low, not piss us off... Really, if I saw him right now, I can't promise, I wouldn't strangle him. He was brought back just like that... I bet daddy had something to do with it; another bastard, who shows up when it's convenient for him...”

„Dean...” Sam tried, eyes firmly on the road, fingers clenching steering wheel with maybe too much force.

„Hell, we don't even know he died that night! He tricked us enough times, we should know better. He let us believe he changed and it was one of his fucking ploys. I bet he had a laugh, when we considered him a hero.” Dean snickered. „Especially you! Maybe he got what he wanted, because _Jesus Christ_ , you're practically _worshipping_ him now. That's how much he messed up with your head.”

„You think I don't know that?” Sam hissed, trying with all his willpower to not let go of a steering wheel and just punch his brother. But this wouldn't do. Not when he wanted Dean on his side. He _needed_ Dean on his side in this. So there was no other way, but listen to his little rant, drugs setting his tongue free (which Sam was actually thankful for; he had to know what his brother was thinking about all of this). „You think I don't know how messed up he left me? But it's something else...”

„Yeah, it's called stockholm syndrome.”

„You're being an ass!”

„And you're a bitch, but I'm not fucking yelling it from the hills.” Dean massaged his temple with two fingers.

„Jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like thousandth time, he was sure they'll permanently stay in his head. Dean wasn't finished yet, so Sam willed his mind to listen; in that moment his patience could give Mother Teresa a run for her money.

„He messed up your head so much you _fucking prayed_ to him, when things got out of hand, Sammy. You prayed to _Gabriel_ to save our asses. He did it, you know how many times? Once. And it was for Kali, for God's sake! He did it only for Kali and not... not you and me, definitely not. And you still see him as some kind of hero...”

„So that's what this is all about? Because I like how Gabriel changed for the better? How he chose humans over his own family? If that's what it is, then yes, I _admire_ him for making the decision for himself, even if it got him killed at the end. Don't you? He died protecting someone he loved. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?”

„Don't turn this on me, Sammy, for having some common sense you obviously sacrificed for Gabriel right with your heart and a little note saying 'Notice me, senpai. But don't tell Dean.'” He said firmly, then sighed. „All I'm saying is, if he was alive for all this time, why would he care now, if we knew or not? Why messing with you behind my back? Why saving us? The bastard's got some serious issues, if he thinks he save us once or twice and he'll be forgiven for everything he did. He has a reason, he always had... killing me over and over, and over again; getting us to play our roles, trying to come between us... He wants something. And we're not some cheap whores for his call.”

„That's the thing I've been telling you for the past three hours.” Sam's breath was ragged, but he'll managed. Gripping steering wheel actually helps with calming his nerves, who would've thought. „He died, he came back, yes. But he wasn't hiding or partying, or playing tricks. If he was, we would've meet him sooner or later. But no, he was weaken by the death or his fight with Lucifer, I don't know! And Metatron used it to-”

„Where the fuck Metatron crawled from?”

„Heaven. But that's not the point.” Sam rolled his eyes yet again. „I think he locked Gabriel in somewhere. Metatron had a power over him, that's why he never told Cas' in that vision, if he was alive or not. Metatron gave him back some of the power to trick us. So Gabriel tried to trick _Metatron_ by _not saying_ he's dead, but _not denying_ he's alive-”

Dean shook his head. „That doesn't even makes sense at this point.”

Sam was too exited to stop and listen to his brother. He had to say it all at once, so he could get that weight off his chest for hiding something from Dean.

„And now with Metatron out of heaven again... he managed to get some of his strenght back, to reach me, to save us. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone else to trust, the rest of his brothers thinking he's either dead or gone pagan-”

„Stop with the conspiracy theories, Sammy, or I swear-”

„So he trusted the only person, who'd be stupid enough to listen to his cries. If he believes I can save him, _I can_ , Dean. And _I will_. Because now I know he's alive and hurt somewhere-”

„And how do you know that? How it's different from Satan, Sam? Huh? How can you be sure he's not just fucking with your head?”

„I just know.” Sam whispered. „I can feel it. I can't explain exactly... This _feeling_ it's... overwhelming. _I know_ I'm right about this, Dean.”

„As right as you've been about Ruby?”

That was a low blow, even for Dean. Sam turned his eyes back on the road and Dean looked out of the window, blush of shame decorating his cheeks.

„It's _nothing_ like Ruby.” Sam croaked, desperate for his brother to listen, to understand already.

„Isn't it?” Dean's voice broke at the end. „Don't expect me this time to sit on my ass and watch my little brother losing _everything_ for a monster dressed as an angel _ever_ again, do you understand me? And as you can't clearly protect yourself, thinking with your dick instead of-”

„That's quite enough, Dean.” Cas' hand materialised on Dean's shoulder. He instinctively leaned into the touch, sighing. The angel was a quiet witness of their fight yet again for the backseat of Impala.

„ _Fine.”_ He pouted like a child. „We can talk about something else. What about that Peter guy?”

„The one, who made a deal with the vampires to led us to their nest and now is Sam's friend?”

„ _He, what_? Wait, I don't wanna know.” Dean sighed. „I want to sleep, Cas, but the headache won't go away.”

„With that, I can help.”

Sam tried again, before he'll lost his courage, „Dean, I'm sor...”

„Shut it, bitch.”

Sam eyes went wide. Maybe for the first time in their lives, his brother said that word to him in the way he always talked to or about people that plainly pissed him off. It wasn't merciless or vicious, it wasn't even aimed to be, but everything Sam heard in that one word was disrespect. And Sam was a hell lot past people thinking of him as a footstool, spare, like he didn't mattered, not where it counted. So hearing it in that tone of voice from his high-on-drugs brother stang a lot more than he was willing to admit. He have had enough of that passive-aggressive crap from drunk John over the years. He didn't have to bear it. He was his own being now.

So Sam did not say it back, even if it broke his heart a little to see Dean's expression hardening with pure pain, before Cas pointed two fingers at Dean's forehead, second later the older Winchester was snoring softly at Sam's usual seat, head falling on the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I shouldn't end it like that, but keep in mind that it's all about how Sam percieves things, how he's processing things, how is mind is working and how he feel about things. This is Sam's journey. If we want him to be his own person, he needs to be that person outside of Dean. Which doesn't mean Dean's gone, oh no. Next chapter is gonna have some major breakdown between Winchesters and Sam will finally start the search on his own
> 
> That being said, did you like it? And what do you think about the promo of Season 12? Oh, and do you think it's true what they say about Gabriel's return? I wonder how would he fit in in all of this mess, how about you, guys?


	3. Finding is reserved for those that search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens  
> Still no Gabe, sorry  
> Not beta-ed, yet

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 **CHAPTER 3 –** **FINDING IS RESERVED FOR THOSE THAT SEARCH – Jim Rohn**

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Dean used to read him that comicbook „Knights of the Round Table”. There were all of those knights, all of them were on the quest to find the Holy Graal. Sam remembered looking at that picture of Sir Galahad, he was kneeling, lights streaming over his face. And Sam remembered thinking he could never go on the quest like that, because he was not clean. Maybe some part of him knew. Knew he was different, not pure, with demon blood cursing through his veins.

The Three Trials were his quest, purifying him by pain. Just like exertion after good exercise – it felt amazing. Pain meant being alive. Sam didn't realise he's been interpreting it wrong the whole time, until it was too late.

This time, though... No one gave Sam a quest. He decided to find Gabriel by his own choice on his own terms. No death, no blood, no regrets, no _deadline_. Just a test for Sam's abilities and determination, _motivation_. And the sense of purpose was more purifying than any pain will ever be.

If it wasn't for this very thing, Sam would quit at least five times now. Two weeks of pointless research, reading the Bible, looking for every piece of information about tricksters and archangels and in the same time trying to keep tracks on Dean and Cas's cases, quietly helping from the backstage through texts to Cas. And looking for Metatron, of course. They guy stayed hidden after his last trick on Castiel and was literally a shadow. Even Cas had problems with finding him.

Sam was patient enough and planning in advance, so Metatron could wait. Sam just wanted to keep an eye for the douche, if they ever need him. And he will be useful. If Sam was right, Metatron was crucial to finding Gabriel. If everything else will fail, Sam wanted to have him, where he could see him. And Cas was kind enough to offer him a hand – that way he could calm Dean about Sam's actions and check up on him from time to time.

Time went by and Sam found nothing. No place in heaven, no cell, no prison, where Gabriel could be held against his will, with no one noticing. Angels were quiet, which meant they didn't know where Gabriel was and that he was alive.

Which meant the only one person, who could confirm it was Metatron. But even if they'd found him, he'd never tell them the truth without throwing a lie when they couldn't let themselves have it, and Sam didn't need that. He was sure he'd punch the guy, if he ever sees him again. That's why he needed an alternative.

It was damn hard to find something, _anything_ about the archangel himself. Amazing how much there was info about Michael or Lucifer, but Gabriel? The angel who was in the bible twice? So many speculations from so many people, and not enough proof.

That's who he was looking for – Gabriel the Archangel. Not Loki, not the Trickster. There were so many summons of tricksters, before one was going mad.

So yep, he was becoming more and more frustrated.

It was feeling he knew all too well and showed a lot around others. Without people to snap at, Sam did the opposite of what he'd usually do in front of them; he did unspeakable things no one would every accuse him of – he ate pancakes with maple syrup all day, went to some Marvel movie that came out recently, drank coffee so sweet it made him dizzy and didn't get rid of people who were picking him up at the bar. He flirted and was charming, and sweet, and insightful, and unusually smiley, and everything that they wanted him to be.

It was too easy be someone he was not, be the perfect!Sam – the version of himself he made up at Stanford. When he didn't feel good in his own skin, he pretended to be someone else, just to feel slightly better about himself. People actually appreciated him; crazy, right? People genuinely liked Satan's vessel.

One person even felt in love with it.

Sam was older now, or was getting old, and acting like everything's fine felt, well, _wrong_. He shouldn't feel like that, he always wanted to be normal. He wasn't, though, and that was the problem. Instead of crawling to the same need of normalcy he once craved, he had been through too much and trying continue trying to escape reality was taking too much effort. Besides Sam Winchester was anything, but normal. And maybe, just maybe that was okay.

He cut off Rachel, who was telling him story about hiking and her cousin Jimmy, by raising his hand. „I can't.” He sounded genuinely sorry. „I was being selfish. Frustrated and selfish and you were supposed to be a distraction, but I can't do that to you. Or myself. We deserve better than to forget about our issues for a minute.”

She nodded slowly, red lips forced in a tight smile. „You have someone.” She patted him on the knee, clearly misinterpreting his widened eyes. „You should've tell me. I can take it, I'm a big girl. But don't jump out with that philosophical bullshit on me, alright? I'm too drunk for a healthy adult talk. It's not why I came here.”

Sam sighed. „Sorry. I don't have anyone, it's just... complicated?” It had to be the beer causing him to talk. Or he was pathetic enough to latch onto anything resembling normal human interaction.

Sensing his uncertainty, her smile became softer, still somewhat dangerous. „You know what? You're sweet, Dimples, so I give you some advice. Based on experience, just say you were an ass and just fuck it out.”

Sam let out a laugh, startled. „No! It's not like that. I'm looking for someone. Wow, that came out wrong. I'm looking for... specific someone, but I can't find him.”

He should stop drinking for the night. He almost said: „Archangel Gabriel”.

„Oh, so you swing both ways.” She mused; Sam frowned, wanting to protest, but she was faster. She leaned too close in Sam's personal space to be comfortable. „Don't tell anyone you heard it from me, but if you know this guy's number, you can track his phone. If we talk illegal stuff, you know. If we're not, then just forget it.”

„It''s... not bad idea at all.” Sam's eyes widened. „Sorry, I have to go.”

„Go get him, tiger!” She shouted after him, swaying on her barstool. „Say you were an ass, then let him fuck you! You know, stress relief! I think I need that myself.” The last part was muttered, but Sam still heard her. Jesus, half of the people crammed in that bar had heard her. Great, now their judging eyes turned to Sam.

He left without a glance, deciding he had to get out of this town first thing in the morning.

Rachel's drunken words actually helped him, as surprising as that was. The bar was the last place he looked for a clue. And then a girl drunk even more than he was came speaking words of wisdom.

And no, not „let him fuck you, it's great stress relief.”

„ _If you know this guy's number, you can track his phone.”_

Thank you, drunk Rachel and your big mouth!

He texted Cas he'll need the bunker for tomorrow night. Cas responded with: _that can be arranged_. Sam stared at his phone for a minute, wondering what exactly did that mean. Then he collapsed face-first on the small motel bed, deciding it'd better if he didn't know.

  
  
  


Dean was suspicious enough to let Cas drag him to a movie, but didn't agree to anything else. So Sam had two hours to prepare. He didn't even had time to go to his own room. He just grabbed things he needed and was off to yet another motel. Men of Letter knew some pretty good tracking spells, Sam knew some, too. Plus they had everything necessary in the storage. Sam's paranoia to always be prepared had come in handy.

Before Sam was looking for a way to communicate with the archangel. He read what could possibly be half the damn books about angels in Kansas State Library. In the meantime he figured praying couldn't hurt too much. No response, of course. Since the vampire case nothing unusual had happened, leading Sam to doubt his role in this.

Sam's prayers were becoming shorter and more frustrated with every evening, starting from:

„Dear Gabriel the Archangel, or Loki, or Trickster, I know it was you back there with the vampires. Thanks for helping us. If it wasn't for you we never could've make it. I got your messages so far, and I-uh... came up with this theory about you being locked up somewhere, and I know you can't talk to me directly, so keep giving me signs. I'll figure out the rest. Just this time, show me if I'm right about this. Show me you're alive. Uh, please. Thanks.”

Ending on:

„Hey, Gabe, you're a dick, you know that? Is that funny to you? Messing with me, when I don't want to, but ignoring me, when I need it the most? Great, you got what you wanted, you asshole. I will never ever pray to you again.”

So he thought maybe he approached it all wrong. He tried some pagan spells, researched Loki – he watched the Thor and The Avengers like million times for no reason at all, besides picking up on similarities and differences between Gabriel and Loki; he read about Tricksters, Ananasi, Coyote, but it turned out to be a dead end.

Now he had hope again. He cleaned up the floor, set up some maps, he got the holy oil and some other things needed to perform different tracking spells. He started with Bobby's: he set a lily – flower associated with Gabriel – and Casa Erotica on the table, right beside the map. It gave him a location, a name of the street actually. In Minnesota.

He looked the entire street in Google Earth View and found nothing worth mentioning. No reason for Gabriel to be there. Sam gritted his teeth. If it was another trick, lesson or whatever, he'll gonna be mad.

Then Ruby's tracking spell, after setting a small map on fire with magical lighter he kept after the apocalypse-that-wasn't, showed him different street – this time in California.

He even went so far as to set a bowl on the table, drew a sigil on the back of it, pour holy oil in the bowl and chant in Enochian an incarnation he caught from Cas. „ _Zod ah mah rah na ee es lah gee roh sah"_. Another street in a different state. Nevada.

What those three streets had in common? Absolutely nothing. After hours of staring at Google Maps Sam finally shut his laptop and groaned. Okay, so they were some random places, not actual breaking points. _Thank you again, Gabriel. So helpful._

Sam rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, yawning. He checked his phone – no texts, no missed calls. He looked at the wall for no particular reason. The stripe patterns sickened him to no end, the creaky furniture made him twitchy and nervous, and tired. Flashing light from the single bulb on the ceiling was the most annoying thing he ever saw. He needed a shower.

Not any shower. He missed his own room and the bunker's shower, which always got hot water and his shampoo and other hair supplies on the shelves. Ugh. He realised that this stupid feeling in his bones has been homesickness. Not as much for the bunker as for Dean. Damn him for not calling even once on his own, while sending Cas to check up on Sam all the time. Damn him for being too freaking stubborn to not reach out first.

Sam stripped down of his worn out jeans, green plaid button up, then socks and underwear by the single bed with rumpled sheets. He kicked the clothes out of the way on the floor, his movements sluggish, resigned. Shower usually was the best part of his day, the quiet relaxing time, the _Sam_ time. The skeevy motel shower was just crap in a nice package. Water freezing cold one second, boiling hot the next and _Jesus Christ_ , was everything try to piss him off today or what?

He got that Dean had a hard time trusting him after all the times he let him down. That's why he couldn't come home to meet him just yet, he had to do this on his own. Cas wanted facts? Sam would give him facts. Dean wanted a confirmation it wasn't one of Sam's crazy Lucifer-induced ideas? Sam could do that.

To think of it, he always was better alone, when researching, thinking. As much as Dean wanted to act like mother hen all the time, he had to thrive into his skull that his baby brother was a grown ass man already. He was his own individual, with his own needs and views. Dean never quite accepted the fact and, Sam supposed, he'd never will, not entirely. Part of him will always put Sam first.

But it wasn't the Winchester brothers against the world anymore. Dean had an angel to be overprotective about and some serious feelings to deal with. Sam couldn't be there for Dean to bitch at to hide his emotions anymore. Sam saw the pattern: every time something good had happened with Cas – their stares had been longer, Cas eyes would drift to Dean's lips once in awhile, and what's personal space anyway? – Dean would snap at Sam for no reason, turn to Sam for _something_.

Sam was the easiest escape route – the reason Dean denied himself being happy. And he couldn't be that anymore. Without him in sight, he hoped Dean and Cas will get their shit together. They tried – and failed – to keep up appearances, when Sam was around, so when he's gone for some time, hopefully Destiel will officially become a thing.

Besides, now he had his own angel to think about and _oh no, no, no, we don't go there_. Gabriel wasn't a thing to own and certainly wasn't Sam's.

The idea, though, stayed with him quite long in the back of his mind. It was nice to have an angel he'd consider his... his own guardian angel. Huh. No wonders Dean liked it so much. It immediately send that sense of security. _Nothing bad will happen, because my guardian angel watches over my shoulder._

Bullshit. But hey, innocent one.

He used some cheap shampoo he bought the day before on his dried out hair, he massaged his scalp, letting the hot water clean him up on its own. He closed his eyes, focusing not on Dean, but on his quest and on a few clues he had. Again.

There was the Horn of Gabriel. The real thing was lost long time ago and no one knew where it was, but the sigil... Cas told him about the sigil, but it called only nearby angels and not Gabriel. Why didn't they called it Ange's Horn and not Gabriel's Horn, then?

On the other hand he had the tracking spells and bunch of names of the streets. Streets with different names, in different states, which had nothing in common. Some shops, bars and houses. Nothing unusual. But maybe...

Sam get out of the shower in record time, towel hung over his hips loosely, the other on his head. The water from his hair dripping on his chest and all over the place, but he couldn't focus on that. Sam checked again. And again. And again. He checked every shop and house, and tried to make a connection with others.

And finally, some bar _Heaven on Earth_ caught his eye. It sounded so familiar... Sam knew he was missing something.

Then the other street came into view and finally, _finally_ he got it. Separately they meant nothing, but together... every single one had a word „heaven” hidden somewhere on the plain sight. Sam found a bar, a cafe... And a strip club.

Subtle.

Sam snorted a laugh, throwing himself back on the surprisingly soft carpet. His head rested on a towel, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. „Gabe, you sneaky son of a bitch.” He couldn't stop grinning like a lunatic. „All this mystery just to bluntly throw it in my face. Exactly your style.”

Three and a half months ago he would laugh or cry, seeing himself like this, praying to the archangel – any angel really – with such an ease. Now he simply didn't care, where praying began and one-sided conversation ended. With every word from Sam, the anticipation what would be Gabriel's response grew. One day, at the end of Sam's quest, he'll hopefully will have a chance to ask them in person.

He put the bandages back in place, over his shoulders and chest. The wounds were healing nicely and a lot quicker than he anticipated after the fight with the vampires two weeks earlier. The itching on the back only grew stronger, when Sam touched it with the towel, so he didn't want to risk anything.

When he was falling asleep on the uncomfortable bed, he heard something. A whisper. Then it was gone. Just like his dreams.

  
  
  


He had no idea, when he and Peter became close enough to help each other. Sam picked up some items or herbs for his shop a few times; Peter in exchange listened to him without making assumptions and offered help, if Sam ever want it.

Sam needed someone like that. A confidant. Maybe even a friend.

Thinking of it, Sam never had one, his only friend being his older brother, which was kind of pathetic, but whatever. Sam tried not to get attached to people, you know. People were fragile, and he couldn't handle seeing another person dead or broken because of him. Dean taught him well, not trusting monsters and hunting material – which was kind of hypocritical, with dead vampire of a buddy and being sorta-in-love with angel. After Ruby Sam never trusted anyone but Cas and his brother. He felt no need to, between saving the world, thinking about his death and having Satan for a unwanted companion.

But now when everything went quiet Sam found himself grabbing onto the first possibility of a relationship with other people – meaning Peter's friendship. He still had a hard time adjusting, Peter's „How's your day, Grumpy?” and „Dean's still mad?” making him uncomfortable, but the guy was seriously patient, letting Sam talk if he wanted to, and if he didn't – they discussed whatever topic Peter came up with, usually meaning clients (the old lady, who wanted to talk to his dead husband or the bunch of teenagers who dragged him to the haunted house... which wasn't haunted at all, just some rats and bats). They didn't discuss anything major, like their private lives, none of them especially keen on the idea.

That made Sam think Peter, like him, was kinda lonely. That was the best explanation why he still put up with Sam. And Sam gladly took it, not dwelling on the why.

To say Sam was pissed, when the guy told him he read _the_ books, was an understatement. He didn't need another one of his friends saying Gabriel's a dick and question his motives about saving him, because how the hell Sam would even _want_ that? The guy who made him watch his brother die hundred times?

Sam was on his way to Peter's occult shop, called _Reverie_. He just called from the road that he'll pass by, but after first sentence the guy haven't stopped talking for a minute with excitement of a child.

Sam usually found that refreshing, but right now, with that particular topic? No, thanks.

Before he could hung up, Peter interjected, „Hey, hey, wait! Maybe I don't get it, but hey, it's your choice, right? He's pretty funny, though. For an asshole. Ugh, I mean... Not that your boyfriend's an asshole or anything, but you have to agree, your first rendezvous didn't go so great. So tell me, Grumpy, what about him got your boxers in a twist?”

Sam put him on speaker and threw a phone on the passenger seat, then ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. „Meaning?”

„Meaning how he went from Trickster to Archangel, how you knew he's the one... you know, the usual. Daddy wants to know.”

„Don't call yourself that, when you're talking to me.” Sam scoffed, bemused. „And for the last time he's not my boyfriend.”

„Yeah, right.” Peter shrugged it off again, not believing Sam for a second. „So when did you realise? It was before or after he died tragically, sacrificing everything for you? That's so cliche, by the way. Sounds like a show-off. And with that teasing all the time...” Peter sounded disturbingly pleased with himself.

„More like tricking.”

„Come on! The Nut Crucker? The herpes? You can't be more obvious in making innuendos, you know. Besides, it all makes sense now.”

Sam would regret asking, he knew. But he'd regret not knowing even more. „What makes sense?”

„Why he acted like an asshole.” Peter said in a wistful tone. „He was pulling your pigtails.”

„He-he he was pulling my pigtails. What haven't I thought of that?” Sam's tone was dry as Sahara in the summer. „Care to elaborate?”

„You know the story. A boy likes a girl so much, and instead of talking to her, he starts picking on her. Then she's crying, not knowing why this boy's so mean to her. Tragic love story, really. Every guy has this one „girl” and his brain's going for overdrive, so he thinks 'I'm gonna start messing with her, so she's gonna notice me' like it's some fricking genius idea.”

„I don't like I'm a girl in that reference. And it's stupid. Bye, Peter.”

„You're gonna mark my words!” He said, before Sam huffed a laugh and clicked the red button.

He was so used to being teased, he haven't paid it much thought after the conversation.

When he got to Reverie, Peter had everything prepared. Sam had a time to glance at shelves with all kind of weird shit – dragon's bones, phoenix's feathers, eyes in jars and a lot of herbs and plants in different sizes. In some other time Sam would've been immediately interested in checking all of the shelves by himself. Right now he was more focused on his plan. Honestly he had no idea if it was gonna work.

A seance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys I need your advice - do you like Peter or not? I know OCs are a sore subject and I wanted to do this right, especially Sam-Peter bro moments. Too much teasing?

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING~  
> TELL ME HOW YOU LIKED IT. You can message me on various sites if you want to talk (I'm always up for it):
> 
> FANFICTION: https://www.fanfiction.net/~kogeki  
> TUMBLR: http://v-zombieland.tumblr.com
> 
> Oh, and a question? Are some of you, Supernatural fans, christians or religious? What you think about religious themes on the show?


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